Dreams
by Sybil Corvax
Summary: Was a nation not allowed to dream?


**Where this came from, I don't even know This is what I get for listening to Avril Lavigne. Seriously. Another songfic Francis-centric from moi. Again. This time like almost no mentions of FrUk as that isn't really the point of this at all (even though I totally love that pairing).**

**Song is Goodbye by Avril Lavigne.**

**Please Review**

* * *

><p><em>Goodbye, <em>

The Nation of France had wanted many things in his life. He had lived long enough to compile a list in the back of his mind. Whether or not that was a good thing was entirely debatable, of course, but this little list was something he kept to himself and close to his heart. It did, after all, hold all of his deeper and greater desires.

His desires were his and his alone. Something that he refused to share with anyone – let alone those who could not possibly understand why he had them. After all, is not even a nation allowed to dream?

_goodbye, _

Rain pelted the ground with such determination. More determination than Francis had to even lift the umbrella to cover his head to shelter himself from the abuse of the precipitation. It was cold against his skin, but not entirely unwelcoming. Especially on this day. This day he could never quite forget, despite even partially wanting to. After all, it brought back many horrible memories for the nation.

However, perhaps the reason behind his inability to forget was that it somehow also held good memories. Not the day itself, but what it represented. It did represent quite a bit, after all. Those were details the Frenchman would always mull over and tear apart again and again in hopes of better understanding.

_goodbye, my love_

The greatest of things cannot last forever.

Francis now knew this. It was so incredibly unfortunate, but also very true. Perhaps once upon a time, he had allowed himself to be deluded, but one can only be deluded for so long before having such a precious delusion ripped from between their fingers. Metaphorically, or literally.

For this exact reason, Francis had once again submitted himself to the realisation that everything that is great must fall. Either what is great surrenders to the ultimate reality or it goes with much reluctance; fighting and clawing for every last bit of marrow it can suck out of life.

_I can't hide,_

Realistically, even the greatest of heroes die. From England's King Arthur, Russia's Peter the Great, to France's Jeanne d'Arc.

Francis shivered from the coldness of the rain and peered out before him, watching the scene almost morph backwards six-centuries. A difficult comprehension, perhaps, but not entirely unrealistic. Not a true experience, but a product of his very own mind.

_can't hide, _

He could smell the smoke and burning flesh. Not only now, but nearly every day. It wafted off of England in large waves from time to time, much to the dislike of the French nation.

He had always known it was a product of his mind, but he wished his mind was not so imaginative and creative. The scent was a horrible stench. It made him feel dread and sickness and most of all, it hurt incredibly to be reminded of his own helplessness.

_can't hide what has come_

It was an aching deep in his heart. That something was missing. That something wasn't right. It had never been quite right since the smoke of death had hit the sky. He couldn't quite recall if it was raining on that day as well, but it was a miniscule detail that didn't apparently matter.

All that did matter was dead.

_I have to go.  
>I have to go.<br>I have to go,_

All the Francis had cared about then had been turned in. While some humans were incredibly great, others were so incredibly cruel. Another fact the nation had learned from living such a long life.

_and leave you alone,_

He shuddered at being forced back to reality. The sky was still dank, but now the rain was beginning to slow to a soft pattering. It was gentle like a caress against his skin and blue eyes glanced upwards at the cloudless sky.

Lips formed soundless words and a grace of a smile slipped into place before his head dipped solemnly.

_but always know,_

Still, despite the death and the cruelty and the horrid realisations, Francis was always able to take something from those who could not live lives as he could. Whether or not that was a true gain was always debatable, of course, but it would also depend on what the nation was learning from his own history and his own memories.

_Always know,  
>Always know I love you so.<br>I love you so.  
>I love you so.<br>_

From the bravery he had lived to see from those who live such short lives, he had always wondered how they could not be afraid to die. It was then thrust onto him from one girl that it was not from lack of fear that people stood for what they believed in – it was for the love of someone or something precious and close to their heart.

For the smiles and the bright eyes and the laughter and the happiness. Something the nation himself enjoyed witnessing as often as he could. Which always made him wonder why he enjoyed England's company, really, but he also figured that it was because of the rarity of these things from the Briton that made them all the more enjoyable when they did occur.

_Goodbye brown eyes.  
>Goodbye for now.<br>Goodbye sunshine.  
>take care of yourself.<em>

There was a reason Francis was nicknamed the 'Nation of Love' on his own terms. Perhaps it was now stretched by his prestigious and often unwelcome reputation (in his very opinion too, mind you) , but the initial thought process was really quite simple.

How could he be anything less than loved if his people were willing to fight for his freedom? Clearly he was loved in some aspect. Not in the same sense as his people loved one another, but they still loved him enough to fight for him and to protect him and to die for him so long that it meant he was safe in some aspect or another.

Complicated, perhaps, but Francis was more of a complicated man than some gave him credit for.

Oftentimes, his thought process was quite melancholy. Even if outwards appearances did not always suggest that. He could smile as bright and lie as well as any other nation. He had centuries of practise, after all.

Still, had he felt he could offer these thoughts to anyone other than his own mind, perhaps he would. He had always figured sharing them would do little for anyone, really. They were often locked away with his dreams and desires.

I have to go.  
>I have to go.<br>I have to go,  
>and leave you alone,<p>

"Ah, is it time already, cherie? How unfortunate..."

_but always know.  
>Always know.<br>Always know,  
>That I love you so, I love you so<br>oh  
>I love you so.<br>ohhh  
><em>

"Perhaps I will see you again, oui? Hopefully much sooner next time..."

_La-lullaby distract me with your rhymes  
>La-lullaby<br>La-lullaby help me sleep tonight.  
>La-lullaby<br>(la-lullaby)  
>La-lullaby<br>_

"I must go now, but join me in my dreams, if you would."

_I have to go.  
>I have to go.<br>I have to go and leave you alone.  
>But always know,<br>Always know,  
>Always know that I love you so.<br>I love you so.  
>I love you so.<br>Ohhhhhh_

"Au revoir, Jeanne..."

_I love you so.  
>I love you so.<br>I love you so.  
>I love you so.<em>

Is it so wrong for nations to dream? If they are loved, it can only be so that they love as well. Be it their great heroes or perhaps even other nations. If they are borne of humans, then they must also have all the other emotional qualities of humans as well?

Regardless, Francis was quite certain that he had loved someone truly at least once. One girl who taught him quite a lot about himself and his people despite her short life. He could only hope she would choose to visit him and teach him more whilst he slept.

But, that was only one dream of his. One even he was quite reluctant to share from his list of dreams with his very self.

_Goodbye brown eyes,  
>Goodbye my love. <em>


End file.
